Courting Highever
by MiiYuKira
Summary: A sweet little courtship between a Cousland and a Howe, and being teenagers who know what they shouldn't attempt, try for it anyway- while preparing for someone else's wedding.
1. Chapter 1: A dreamlike encounter

**A/N:** This is a story about Nathaniel and Elissa, and foreshadows their future- which isn't exactly set in stone. Inspired by the story of them as kids, now teenagers and wary of falling in love. Enjoy!

Summary: A sweet little courtship between a Cousland and a Howe, and being teenagers who know what they shouldn't have, try for it anyway.

Characters: Elissa and Nathaniel

* * *

**Courting Highever**

Elissa sat up in the darkness— something had woken her in thrall of a furious toss of dreams and sweat. It was altogether too stuffy in her room, and she stumbled, grabbing the nearest garb and slipping it on, deciding against shoes (which were boots anyway) and opened her door— before almost falling over Chance, who remained on guard like the overprotective father he was. She swallowed all curses and scratched the _mabari's_ ears, and he became her escort, though she did not need one— at the age of fifteen, she could go wherever she pleased.

Still, the point of her wandering about in the bracing night air was to find whatever it was that had roused her from her sleep— alongside her snuffling old _mabari_.

The flagstones were cool to her bare feet, and she was quite happy about having decided against shoes. Like a child all over again, girlishly padding about the castle, pretending to be spies—but all that was gone. She was _young_ _lady_ now, and had to behave accordingly, gracefully _sailing_ through corridors, sighing over flowers and _not_ sneaking around like a common thief. Her mother would know, warrior-maiden as she was—having ensnared Elissa's father with her _feminine_ _arts_.

Something about that sounded familiar. Perhaps it was the thing that had woken her; a dream about her parents when they courted? Ugh that was bad, even just thinking about it made her queasy. But it wasn't what had startled her from her bed. No, not by a long shot.

It had been a dream of blood. Great, awful splashes that stained the walls of their keep, bodies of soldiers— pooling remains on the floor of the main hall. These were the things that churned her stomach.

A massacre.

She walked on quickly, but after a short distance, had to lean on the walls for support. Dry heaves racked her body, and she sank to her knees. Her breathing was getting quite uncontrollable, and she felt light-headed. She felt stalked by those armed men, shadowy and faint, killing everyone in sight. But Elissa knew that it was stupid. A single bad dream and she had found the way to her brother's room, though she could not seek him out. Not now. He was practically married now, and no longer could she sneak into his quarters with Oriana in there with him.

Perhaps Nathaniel—he was here too, for Fergus's wedding on Sunday.

Oh but it would be _improper_. Mother would have a fit. "Young ladies should not be alone with young unmarried men at any point of the day," Elissa muttered to herself. These were the same scolding words that accompanied her mother's daily attempts at teaching Elissa 'how to be a lady'. But Nathaniel was different. He had been her best friend from the first, and he had grown up to be quite the gentleman. She would be safe around him, despite her mother's misgivings. No one doubted the Howes when it came to _honor_.

Perhaps he would be willing to stay up late with her? They could scale the roofs and go to that tower's special spot with its grand view of the town and the unfettered sky. Elissa had discovered that place one sleepless night, and it had been magnificent, a sea of stars and winking lights from houses that glimmered so far away, away from everything else that tugged on her _responsible_ self.

His room was just around the corner, and having come to Redcliffe _ahead_ of his parents to be Fergus's ring bearer, making the east wing now devoid of its soon-to-be guests.

Now Elissa knew that she was barely dressed to meet Nathaniel, let alone to go gallivanting on the castle's shingles in the dead of the night. But he wouldn't mind— _perhaps_— and it _was_ a tunic long enough to cover her bare thighs. That and she could always borrow a belt to cinch it tight around her waist.

She tiptoed to the door, and tried to think of something to say, beyond the obvious lines about the weather. In truth, she had not spoken to Nathaniel in quite a while—and it made her somewhat nervous—she hoped that he was still the same boy she used to know. She was still debating on a conversation starter that did not begin with an 'um…' when the door opened and Nathaniel appeared, blinking blearily at her from the darkness of his room. Elissa made a face at Chance, who had scrabbled so loudly at the door, waking her friend up from an apparently deep sleep.

"Lissa—?" He seemed confused, and was dressed in only a pair of trousers. Was he expecting anyone else? Elissa suddenly wished that she was elsewhere; this was dreadfully embarrassing. But as she searched for a reply, her eyes wandered over his lean body—the muscles that stretched across his bare chest—and below… she snapped her head back up, meeting his amused gaze.

"Eyes to my face, dear Lissa," the ass was actually grinning.

* * *

P.S.: I think we all agree that Nathaniel deserves a little courting? Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2: Tower in the air

A/N: So, second chapter! Hope you like it :D

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**Chapter 2**

Her face flushed in embarrassment, and Elissa shut her eyes involuntarily. She wasn't expecting him to have come to the door dressed in so little. "I know."

"You also need to put on more clothes," Nathaniel noted soberly, and nudged a bundle of something at her unoccupied hands. Elissa couldn't help it and decided to sneak a peek, getting an eyeful of his bare back—as he pulled on a shirt. All things considered, and though he was a lot less bulkier than her father's knights, it was still a very pleasant sight.

But he caught her looking again, and grinned that knowing smile as Chance snorted disapprovingly. Great, now even her dog was judging her.

"I'm _flattered,_ Elissa—but you need to put on those pants."

xOxOx

"So, _where_ exactly are we going?" They were appropriately dressed now—and their feet were covered in soft-soled leather shoes; they clung to the side of the walls, cloaked in the deepest shadow. Elissa was leading them both, after bringing Chance back to the kennels—determined that she should share her newest favourite spot with _him_.

"Away from all this," she whispered back, before realizing her folly. She could have bitten her tongue, having said something this clichéd—something only heard of in bad romance novels. Nathaniel was chuckling, she was sure of it.

"Very well, my lady—lead on." The laughter in his voice was faint, but it was there.

And they found it quick, that single ledge on that abandoned tower on the far end of the town—behind the chantry. Nathaniel matched her speed in scaling the stone wall, though Elissa suspected that he did this on purpose, the strength in that impressive physique would have made him quite a bit faster. The crescent moon was high, but its faint light did not overpower the myriad dots that were her ultimate goal.

"Is this the reason that you've approached me in such a manner—luring me away from the propriety of your father's castle this late in the evening?" He feigned outrage, but could barely keep from laughing—gazing out into the endless sky. The streamers and festive decorations fluttered in the wind below, and even the chantry was being outfitted with a tent that glowed a gleaming white in the dim. Oriana's family had insisted on paying for most of these lovely additions, and Elissa was quite glad that Mother wasn't in charge of this part of the wedding.

To be perfectly truthful, just being near Nathaniel almost made Elissa forget the reason she was awake, and _very_ unwilling to go back to bed—to that horrible dream. But looking at him made her not want to talk about it, content in the moment, even quite _happy_.

And yet somehow, he knew. She had seen concern, hidden in his dark eyes— but she wasn't ready. She wanted something else from him entirely —his company.

Nathaniel sat on the very edge, scooting to the left—motioning her over next to him. "It's nice, up here."

"That's the only word you can think of? _Nice_?" She giggled, gently. Nathaniel was usually one with the words; he always knew the things to say. The last she remembered, he had a large vocabulary.

His voice began bright, before trailing off, "Alright, challenge accepted. It's also _stunning_, _splendid_, _alluring_, _spectacular_, _and magnificent_ and…" He turned, and Elissa realized how close their faces were—so much so that his next word mirrored on hers. "Romantic."

They kissed.

It was everything that she expected, and yet, also nothing she could have imagined—a tender caress of his lips, the tentative brush of tongue and it was gone, leaving her dazed—though admittedly, quite disappointed that it ended quite so fast.

He coughed, pulling away abruptly—looking all at once, quite sheepish. "I… I'm sorry." Her heart sank. So it—had been a mistake? Of course, this made everything incredibly awkward, so she tried lightening the mood with an appreciative grin.

"Why apologise? It was nice, I think." Nathaniel was probably regretting his actions, and Elissa knew it. He _didn't_ like her that way.

"Just _nice_? I'm hurt." He affected a grimace, and she smiled in return.

They were friends, still—and there was no real reason to hide anything from him. "And how would I know whether _that_ was any good? You're the only one I've _ever_ kissed."

"I am? Anyone would have thought that you—a beautiful young maiden like yourself, would have dozens of boys chasing after your hand." The surprise in his voice was plain, and yet, Nathaniel sounded hopeful, though hesitantly so.

Elissa found his words thoroughly confusing; many nobles were turned away, and commoners knew better than to try. She scarcely had any playmates beyond the serfs training for their knighthood—and they kept their distance too—leaving her rather bereft of suitors. "And my affections are my own—I see no reason to go about kissing everyone _just_ because I lack experience."

That earned a hard-won laugh. "Fair enough, Lissa."

They remained side-by-side for a long while—not saying anything. The little lights winked continuously, but even these grew faint—blurry, through the moisture gathering at the corners of her eyes. She rubbed at these as naturally as she could, blaming the sudden bout of tears on the gusts of wind—praying to the Maker that Nathaniel did not notice.

His voice was unexpectedly low, "Lissa—there's— something I need to tell you."

"Hmm?" She glanced at his profile through the corner of her eyes, noting that he had grown to be quite...handsome.

There was long pause as she waited; Nathaniel seemed to be at a loss for words.

"It really has been awhile—you know, since we last spoke. I had so many things to tell you, but…" Elissa felt like an idi—no—a fool. He was going to say that he met someone, that he didn't like her that way, that they were just friends. Of course they were just friends, and it all made sense to her now; why the Howes only brought Thomas along during their last visit and why her mother introduced nice young boys to her with an increasing frequency. Nathaniel was already taken.


	3. Chapter 3: Feeling Silly

**Chapter 3  
**

So it was daylight, and she emerged from her chamber, massaging her puffy eyes, hurriedly braiding her ebony hair in that fashion her mother deemed lady-like, before deciding that she wanted the rest of it loose about her shoulders, and left the dual, complicated weave alone on the sides of her face. Elissa was glad that she had never needed a maidservant, whose inane chatter would no doubt only grate on her nerves this fateful morning.

Breakfast was a quiet affair—the absence of Fergus and his Antivan bride-to-be quite marked, and Elissa caught her father swallowing a grin when her mother remarked on it in such a disapproving voice. In fact, that was all she paid attention to, when her father's voice broke through her distracted thoughts.

"Did you sleep well, pup?" Elissa looked up, and found her father standing over her with concern in his eyes while her mother was nowhere to be seen—most likely bustling about with her planning.

She felt stupid, her father had other things to worry about than her with Fergus's wedding this close, and forced a smile, "No, but nothing a bout in the courtyard can't fix."

Bryce Cousland did not doubt that something was bothering his daughter, but had the sense to not press further. He patted her on the head. "Go get them, pup— show them what you're made of."

She nodded and left the table, vowing to make herself right again by lunch. Or nightfall.

xOxOx

Though accustomed to training on her own in the yard, Elissa found the presence of the new knight-in-training easy to get used to— a red-haired Roderick who kept silent as she tore into the straw targets with her blades like a bear—replacing these as soon as they came undone. When she finally regained her senses, Elissa found herself drenched in perspiration, blisters rising in the palm of her hand, but the tremendous ache in her limbs reassuring.

She stopped at last, or rather, her body gave up the fight—and she sat impotently at the far corner of the yard, head spinning from the constant twirling.

"Um… my lady, you need water," came the serf's hesitant words as he gently laid down a waterskin.

Elissa squinted up at him before she accepted the offering with a trembling hand. She motioned for him to sit in the shade; it was really getting too hot to train any further. "Thanks, Roderick." The young man seemed to blush, and nodded in reply.

"You can j-just—call me Rod, or Rod-dy, my lady. The other knights do," The knight-in-training smiled, trying quite hard not to stutter.

"But Roderick is a perfectly good name—you should insist on people calling it in full," Elissa found herself replying, if for the sake of polite conversation. He was trying to be nice, after all.

"You'll one day be _Ser_ Roderick—"

"Gilmore—my lady."

"Ser Roderick _Gilmore_—not Roddy or even Rod. I know how a nickname sticks—" Yes, Elissa knew just how a pet name could come back to bite, after years of disuse. She would be happy if she no longer heard hers again, uttered by another.

"Especially those which make me sound like a fishing implement," the ginger-headed boy continued, good-naturedly. But she was in no mood to respond beyond another strained smile, and the boy remained next to her, having no other chores for the day.

They sat in an awkward silence for a while, before a figure blocked out the sunlight—the one person she really did not want to see. Nathaniel Howe.

xOxOx

"Lissa—" he began, trying to explain himself, fervently hoping that he wasn't digging himself a deeper hole.

But the girl—_nay_—young woman only shut her beautiful green eyes and strode away from him, calling after the serf who had ingratiated himself in the past few moments.

"Would you set up the archery target—please, Roderick?" The boy scrambled to heed her request, and promptly put up the bullseye at the far end of the courtyard, while Elissa Cousland readied her stance with slightly trembling hands. Nathaniel had hoped to explain, as futile as it was—his words from the night before. But she was resisting, and very determinedly, trying to ignore his presence. And failing.

She nocked and released an arrow, its thin shaft piercing the target's edge—not a total miss, but nowhere near a shot deemed worthy of the 'Cousland standard'. A soft swear escaped her even softer lips, but still she continued, each speeding projectile finding its mark either in the dust or glancing off the thickly-woven rim of the bullseye. The young Howe knew how much the girl hated to show her 'incompetence', as she called it— (for all of the Couslands were overachievers) but it was plain that her agitation was affecting her target practice. So, as she reached behind her for another iron-tipped arrow, Nathaniel grasped her hands, calmly guiding her jerky movements into the position he knew well.

"Release the arrow with your own exhaling breath, Lissa," He murmured into her ear. This was an all too intimate gesture—but Nathaniel knew that he could not grab hold of her any other way.

The girl only pulled away rather strongly, almost elbowing him in the face— and Elissa seemed determined to stay as far away as she could, stalking away to where her arrows were, collecting them grimly. A thunderous storm was gathering in the girl's lovely features.

Nathaniel wished that he hadn't told her about that girl in Amaranthine—women seemed particularly sensitive about these things, but it would have been worse to keep Lissa in the dark about it—not when _she_ seemed quite so sweet on him. It had only been a brief courtship, before the girl mysteriously went off and got herself married to some farmhand in the arling.

The young man watched the young Cousland, huffing under her breath about something, very evidently missing some of the iron-tipped arrows with each clawing grasp at the ground. He hoped that she would at least listen to the latter half of his story soon— and come to believe that he wasn't quite such a rogue when it came to young women.

"By all the _blazing_—" Nathaniel heard another loud swear escape as Elissa yelped, before cradling her one hand to her chest.

"Did you hurt yourself?" He called as he strode forward, reaching out for her, before finding himself shunted aside by the red-headed squire.

"I have medical supplies, my lady—let me take a look at that."

Nathaniel brooded inwardly as he eyed the scene before him, knowing full well that he had competition.

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P.S.: I'm so glad that there are still people reading this, and yes, I'll try to man up and finish my outstanding debts (yes, I know owe it you lovely people to finish them), and I hope that will be soon!

(Also, am currently playing Dragon's Dogma, which though thin on plot and brutal on the action—is actually something I paid money for—totally worth it! Might write a oneshot for that)


	4. Chapter 4: The Other Side

_A/N: Whew. A return to writing after long, tumultuous months… Enjoy! I hope._

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**Chapter 4: The Other Side**

"I'm fine, it's just a scratch," protested the young Lady Cousland as the serf removed bottles of liquid and swaths of bandages from the satchel at his side.

The red-headed boy looked her over, noting her displeasure in her slightly pink face (it was a lovely one too) and nodded, before handing her a small piece of cloth dampened with the ointment that stopped profuse bleeding and prevented infection— knowing that her temper could exhibit itself exactly like Teryna Cousland's in an instant.

Roderick watched the young Lady Cousland, and there was a pause as she considered, her delicate nose wrinkling slightly. The smell of the ointment certainly was most strong-smelling, but it was a preventive that all the other Knights swore by, and they used such copious amounts that it sometimes was a badge of honour to not smell of it after a practice duel.

She assented with a dignified nod, raising her hand quickly and a little nervously. All of the Couslands were brave fighters, and so was she, despite her delicately feminine exterior. Roderick found her very…no. It was not proper to think of this, for she was _beyond_ his station. He was a serf, nothing more.

_For now_. A voice at the back of his head spoke, very much out of turn.

Roderick found his face heating up, and tried to focus as he treated his lady's wound.

The young lady gritted her teeth as the salve touched her raw wound, suppressing a wince—before letting out a sharp hiss.

"Ow!"

This made the young Howe pounce on Roderick, his concern manifesting in a fierce display. The young nobleman shoved him hard, eager to see the damage he had supposedly wrought.  
What did you give her? He rounded on Roderick, before getting a whiff of the ointment's distinctive smell. " Myrrh and _mugwort_?" the man pondered aloud, before grinning widely. It was apparent that the nobleman knew the formula too.

Though he had yet come to his conclusions about the Howe, Rod-dy felt a bit depressed when he realised that this Nathaniel was not just a fop. Perhaps it was a stupid wish on his part, to hope that the young lady would have no suitable suitors.

Both of them glanced back at the young lady Cousland, who was still staring ruefully at her smarting palm, blissfully unaware of their almost-violent exchange. Her nose was still wrinkled, and she eyed the cloth with keen suspicion that was quite endearing to Rod-dy, for she seemed a lot less… daunting. But there was no time to dream _idly_, and he produced yet another salve, and dabbed some of it onto the wound, before covering it with a tight bandage of linen.

"This one smells better, at least," muttered Elissa Cousland, venturing a sniff of her stinging hand.

"It's a mixture of yarrow and mint, _milady_," replied Rod-dy's rival cheerfully before the red-head could speak the same. The serf found himself silenced, almost petulantly, annoyed by the young Howe's presence.

"Interesting…" her voice trailed off into an awed silence, and she began picking unconsciously at the little bow that Rod-dy had tied to fasten the linen strips. Now Roderick had heard that the young lady Cousland had a curious nature, but he was quite certain that she would not want to see the state that her hand was in, and would be for the next few hours. It would be quite swollen and yellow, having been irritated by the mugwort-vinegar concoction.

He grasped her hands as gently as he could, shaking his head in the negative sense, but before he could get the words out, they all heard a throat clearing behind them—a most ominous sound.

xOxOx

While certain that the Couslands were a reasonable people, Nathaniel had not expected the dark shadow that had loomed over them to belong to one Fergus Cousland. He looked a little pale in the sunlight, but the squint he had in his brows struck quite the look of brooding fury, very much different from his usual easy-going nature.

"You're finally awake," piped the hulking figure's sister. This was a statement that appeared to chastise her elder brother, who grew more sheepish by the moment— reminded of his eagerness to go to bed the previous evening.

She struggled unsteadily to her feet, half-dragging the serf too, who still had a hold on her injured hand. Nathaniel was not pleased by this, but was gratified to see that the red-headed boy looked quite disturbed by the sudden intrusion. He bent back down to gather his things, and moved to slip away, before being stopped by the elder Cousland child.

"Hold a moment," he called, clapping a hand down on the fleeing figure. The ginger-haired young man turned, his eyes meeting the Cousland's without a flinch. Nathaniel saw this and made a mental note—there was a hidden strength in the serf's demeanour, one that would make him a tough rival to beat. Even Fergus had recognised the spirit that lay behind those brown eyes.

Elissa though, still seemed preoccupied with her bandaged hand.

"Thank you, for helping my sister. She can be quite… the _handful_." Fergus said at length, before releasing the other young man.

The serf's reply, though somewhat brusque, was not without respect. He uttered them with a slight nod—Nathaniel saw all of this from where he was—it was certainly a stiff exchange of words. "It is only my duty."

The two turned from the retreating figure, hearing a low chuckle from the girl behind them.

"A 'handful'? Really? I'm appalled, Fergus." Nathaniel muttered, and it took all of them only seconds before bursting into collective laughter.

"Puns are the highest form of literature," protested Fergus weakly.

"If you say so. I think Roderick was put off by your poor attempts at conversation," called his sister as she looked in the direction of where the serf had gone. Nathaniel watched her with some alarm.

"I knew I should have said something about your butterfingers instead," came the huffy reply.

* * *

P.S.: I… hope that I get back into writing regularly soon. *nods fervently*


	5. Chapter 5: Complications Arise

_A/N: I apologise for the wait- please, enjoy! (Had initially planned for this to be a three-part series. Guess we're way over that xD)_

* * *

**Chapter 5: Complications Arise- that dratted Rascal!**

Roderick volunteered for the hardest duty indoors, packing bags upon bags of potatoes and grain— chores that weren't strictly performed by the other serfs, having been deemed too manual for knights-in-training. He was soon dripping in perspiration and would be unfit for dinner in the hall with everyone else, but it did not matter. He felt an utter fool around the young Lady Cousland, and that he deserved the punishment.

He was having the most inappropriate thoughts about her, and these images loomed up at every turn.

When all the bags were finally arranged against the wall of the granary, Roderick sank down to the floor, letting out a long sigh.

_He began to remember her firm, smooth hands, surprisingly-soft palms, the gentle smile she had when she spoke to him. Briefly, he wondered if they would ever become friends…_

Roderick smacked his forehead in despair—and thought that perhaps the supplies could be rearranged again; the pile could certainly stand to be more neatly stacked against the west wall.

His mind was definitely not clear of these distractions—and so the red-headed Roderick began again, this time, shirtless, attempting to translate his _emotions_ into energy for his exertions. It simply would not do to moon over the young Lady Cousland like a lovesick twit.

Rivulets ran down his face, but he forced himself to work, struggling (and failing) to keep her pretty figure out of his head.

_Her determined demeanour now remained the one thing in his mind's eye, her __tight__ jaw as she released each arrow—poorly aimed, but had definitely enraptured everyone who saw her._

He dropped a particularly heavy bag of potatoes that narrowly missed his foot, fingers slipping even on the rough canvas. The (initially untrembling) limbs of his seemed to turn to jelly whenever he thought about the lovely Elissa Cousland, but he had to concentrate on the task at hand. Hand, shoulders, muscles put to the test, mechanically stacking, focusing so hard on each strain in his back, waist and other various tensed places.

When that too was done, Roderick looked around, satisfied with the work, and though his body ached from the exercise, he felt much better. He yanked on his tunic and exited the granary, taking a deep breath of the crisp night air. This was when a large rat darted past him, its red eyes and hairless tail out of place in the open—almost the size of a kitten.

Roderick stopped to ponder on this, wondering if the granary had been compromised when something dastardly rammed into his knees, sending both the creature and him careening into the grey-stoned wall.

The huge (all muscle and bone) mabari scrambled off almost immediately, but not before giving him a lick in apology- his masters had taught him some good manners after all.

Still, there sat Roderick, head, shoulders, arms aching—in a petulant protest. However, the approaching sound of laughter brought some life back into him; it would not do to be caught in such a state.

Staggering to his feet, he dusted himself off before making the somewhat longer way back to the knights' barracks.

"Your hound, Elissa, I swear, will have rounded the grounds twice."

"You're exaggerating." Came a retort, falsely haughty and proud. Roderick stopped in spite of himself, wincing a little as he leaned back into the shadows.

Fergus Cousland chuckled. "Am I? We see neither hide nor hair of it—why, any moment now—"

Roderick sneezed, chilled by the brisk gust of wind that swept through the compound.

"Did you hear that?" He flattened himself against the wall of the granary, and cursed that he had chosen such a moment to complete his chores.

Footsteps approached, and suddenly, a raucous crashing and yelping echoed in the distance.

"Argh—Rascal's going to get it from Nan if he got into the scullery," Huffed the older Cousland as his voice became fainter—and Roderick breathed a sigh of relief.

But he was not safe yet, and when he opened his eyes, (soon-to-be) Ser Roderick Gilmore found himself face-to-face with the young Lady Cousland, yet again.

xOxOx

"It's alright, Fergus, I've got him," laughed Nathaniel as he dragged the protesting hound away from the precariously stacked white tablecloths.

Fergus grinned as he took hold the dog's collar, relieving his friend of the bulging mass that panted so heavily. "My heartfelt thanks, Nathaniel. If I have to hear another lengthy conversation involving the Antivan supply of lacy ivory linens—"

"And here I was, wondering when your complaints would start—my husband-to-be," some dulcet tones interrupted that thought, heavily accented, yet not unlovely. Even in the dim, Nathaniel could see his friend's ears blush an embarrassed scarlet, which earned a grin from the young Howe. He disentangled Rascal's collar from Fergus's clumsy fingers, and squeezed past the lovely Oriana.

His escape did not come soon enough, for he was still able to hear their whispers. "By tradition, I am not meant to see you until the wedding night, my—dove."

"And a chance meeting brings us together yet again, Fergus." But Nathaniel soon rounded the corner, and was out of earshot.

He pulled the _mabari_ towards the kennels and Rascal, upon recognising the smell of straw and other unmentionable odours, charged forth again, eager to be let in for the night. The caretaker nodded at Nathaniel, who acknowledged the same, and walked back to the main castle. It appeared that the night would end quite uneventfully, though he had hoped to come upon Lissa, who—he felt, was owed another awkward apology.

But what he saw stopped him in his tracks—the sight of a very pink Elissa supporting the red-headed serf (who was now very shirtless), coming his way.

"It's fine—I'm well, Lady Cousland," the young man spoke weakly, though he seemed quite unable to stand on his own."

"You are most certainly not—the barracks are too far off—and the physician can be called much more quickly to the Keep. Just a little more—" And Nathaniel knew that he would have to render assistance to another Cousland, again this night.

* * *

P.S.: Work has been hectic. So do take pity on my ridiculous delays T-T


End file.
